


Setting Fire To Our Insides

by gala_apples



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Come Swallowing, Come play, Episode Tag, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Fluid Sexuality, Foursome, M/M, Making Out, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Season/Series 01, Under-negotiated Kink, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Freddie's so tired of their fractured friendship, of everything being ruined, that when Cook suggests a strange fix, Freddie goes with it.





	Setting Fire To Our Insides

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the breathplay prompt for seasonsofkink.
> 
> Hey, so don't actually choke a lover, probably. It's the most dangerous form of erotic asphyxiation. Luckily, this is fic.

Five minutes ago, Freddie asked ‘what now’, and got no answer. He wasn’t surprised. Everything this year’s been a mess. A single answer is just about impossible. So he’s sitting on the edge of the seat on this grimy fucking boat, waiting for JJ to steer them home, in silence. The only real sound is the gutteral noises of the engine.

“We can.”

Cook breaks the silence with two words. It draws everyone’s attention. Freddie turns to look at him, and so does Effy on Cook’s other side. Even JJ perks up at the wheel. 

“We can... what?” 

“In the bottom. You said we can’t share. We can. We fucking can, can’t we.” Cook sounds so belligerent it doesn’t even come off as a question.

“Cook-”

“No. No, shut it. Listen. I love her, you love her, JJ loves her. She loves me. She loves you better. Who doesn’t think JJ is a cute pillhead? And we both know we’re straight enough to suck a dick when there’s nothing better available. So why in the fuck can’t we share?”

Effy begins to ask the inevitable, but Freddie can’t look at her, and therefore is the first to notice JJ fucking fainting at the idea of an orgy. JJ crumples to the dirty floor, and the boat keeps going. It doesn’t even slow down. Freddie doesn’t know shit about boats, but he does know he doesn’t want to die today. He bolts the few feet to the steering column and yanks on the one handle JJ had moved upwards, hoping and praying.

Thankfully the boat slows to a stop. Well, near stop. It’s not like he dropped anchor. Hell, he doesn’t even know if this shitbucket _has_ an anchor. Unfortunately that problem solved means dealing with the rest of the bullshit Cook’s just pulled down on his head. Freddie shrugs off the ripped up old coat he borrowed from Cook Senior’s rubbish bag of clothes and balls it under JJ’s head, then crosses his arms and looks at Effy.

“You’re bi? Both of you?”

Cook’s enraged ‘no!’ battles with Freddie’s own ‘not quite’. Effy’s clearly not impressed with either answer, or so Freddie’d guess by her raised eyebrows.

“I’m straight. He’s straight. But sometimes there’s no lady up for going to a dark corner with you, and you’re too skint for a professional. It’s easier now, there’s usually an easy bint at a club or pub. Year Nine put out a lot less.”

“You never asked me,” JJ says, already recovering. Freddie doesn’t think he’s imagining the hurt in JJ’s voice.

“Didn’t want you to get locked on. Freds always knew it didn’t mean anything, putting my knob in his gob. You care about defining things, J,” Cook says apologetically.

“Cook sucked me off too! It wasn’t just me!” Freddie clarifies in a near shout, then feels immediately embarrassed. It’s probably not better than it was mutual.

“So, you want me to fuck all three of you at once,” Effy says. “You sure JJ’s up for that?”

“When you’re all done deciding what I can and can’t handle-” JJ shouts.

“JJ sounds on board, love,” Cook says.

Freddie’s not sure he’s on board. Yes, he wants to date and love and fuck Effy. Yes, he’s fine with her still having lesser feelings for other guys. And finally yes, he’s watched his fair share of gangbang porn. All that aside, the lines between them all are so tangled already, he doesn’t want this conversation to be the thing that snaps them altogether.

“If you want me to fuck all three of you at once,” Effy repeats, “it can’t just be about me. It’s too much pressure. Prove to me it won’t be just me carrying everything.”

Freddie isn’t sure what to say. He’s not sure this can be not about her. It’s been about her since the first day of school. Even if he accepts that this idea of Cook’s is a rare good idea, there’s a lot more to talk about.

Except, Cook is Cook. Always has been, always will be. While Freddie’s keeping his wheels on the logic track, Cook derails completely. He grabs Freddie by the collar of his plaid overshirt and yanks him in for a kiss. It’s as rough as it always is. Cook’s never been the type for _gentle_. Freddie doesn’t think it’s masculine posturing. Cook, after all, thinks he’s so manly he can have sex with a guy and still be completely straight. It’s more akin to enthusiasm. Usually Freddie tries to temper the rough kisses with his own open mouthed technique, but today he lets it go. If this is going to happen, they’ll all need a bit of Cook’s wild attitude.

“Freddie, would you kiss me?” JJ asks. He’s hesitant, the way he always is with new things. Freddie’s honestly impressed he was even able to ask. Emily’s influence on him, no doubt.

It’s not the first time Freddie’s kissed someone with braces. It’s been awhile, but it’s easy enough to modify his technique so his lips and tongue don’t get cut. JJ’s still wearing the too large trenchcoat, but Freddie can feel how he’s shaking, and where JJ’s balled fists land under the cuffs of the drooping sleeves. It’s enough to make Freddie back off.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay with this. You can pull out your card and show us a magic trick or something. We don’t have to-”

“Shut up, Freddie,” JJ replies. He leans in again, this time going for Freddie’s neck. The part of Freddie’s brain that can still think isn’t surprised that JJ actually remembered one of the billion conversations they had in the shed about sex, one detailing Freddie and Cook’s favourite shit girls do to them. Most of him, however, is simply struck dumb. It just never gets old. His neck never gets less sensitive.

“Beauty, Effy,” Cook calls out. 

Freddie twists around to see what Cook sounds so appreciative of. JJ follows a beat later, only to become just as captivated. Effy’s pulled off the loaned slicker of Cook Senior, and her black leather jacket, and the black band shirt underneath. She keeps going, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. Freddie loves her tits. Last night he spent what felt like hours licking them, getting her sopping wet before they finally fucked on the floor of the pub store room. 

JJ’s gripping his arm hard, frozen at the sight of Effy topless. JJ’s hand is cold, even through the layers of thick flannel. It occurs to Freddie he doesn’t even know what JJ did last night, where he stayed. His chest rushes with a surge of protectiveness, the urge to wrap his arms around his spazzy little friend and keep him safe. But there’s no call for that now, so he just goes back to kissing him. It’s a bit painful to turn away from Effy, the sum total of everything he’s wanted this last year, but he loves JJ too. It might be in a slightly more platonic way, but it’s no hardship to get sexual. Freddie’s more honest with himself, or at least more compliant with society’s structured thinking. He’s had sex with Cook and enjoyed it; he’s at least somewhat bi, somewhat on the spectrum. 

While he’s been warming JJ up Cook’s of course taken it a step further. He’s showing off why half the college women have fucked him, idiocy or no. He’s spooning her, his left hand pinching a nipple, the right down the waistband of her pants. It’s a lethal combination, according to Effy’s moans, anyway. It’s not like Freddie hasn’t thought about their fucking a dozen times over. He’s seen Cook naked too often, heard too many stories of exploits to not have a mental landscape of exactly what happens. There’s still a newfound clarity provided when he can actually witness Cook and Effy serpentining together in the flesh. It’s never been about winning Effy over Cook, it’s been about Cook’s unhappiness and resulting douchery.

“I’m cold,” Effy murmurs to Cook, voice just loud enough that all of them can hear. “Can we go inside?”

“Right then, on my way.” Cook pulls his hand out of Effy’s pants just to boost her up onto his waist. For the second time in twenty four hours, Cook’s bearing the weight of a full other person. It makes Freddie long for the time when they could just wrestle and fool around without drama. Katie and even Effy can’t handle the same level of rough that Cook can. 

Cook carries her halfway down the stairs, then stops and precariously twists to see if Freddie and JJ are following. It says something about his personality development that he actually checks instead of just assuming they’ll both follow his lead. Freddie doesn’t trust that this will work out, will be their fantastical, completely mad solution, but it’s _hurt_ this year, every time he doesn’t do what Cook wants. If he wants this, and Cook wants this, Freddie can’t say no just because it’s stupid.

The inside of the boat is disgusting. The cleanest area is the built in couch. It won’t be wide enough for all of them, that much is plain to see. The bedroom is at the front of the boat, but it’s covered in heaps of rubbish bags that hold Cook Senior’s belongings. Even if they could push all of them off, Freddie wouldn’t trust the sheets to be washed. That leaves them one choice. The floor. It’s fucking squalid. Grimy matted brown carpet littered with empty bottles and cans, the occasional crumpled take out garbage. The only way it’s better than the bed is the decreased likeliness of bodily fluids. Effy stands with her arms crossed over her breasts, and it’s easy to see JJ melting down. Cook starts kicking the rubbish across the floor to one side of the room, making a tidy area, but Freddie knows it’s not enough. For the millionth time he backs up Cook in a madman situation. He grabs a fleecey blanket balled up on the couch, and fans it out to cover the floor.

The addition makes the conditions adequate, thank fuck. Effy’s taking off her artfully ripped jeans. JJ’s dumping the borrowed trenchcoat on the edge of the couch. Freddie can only do the same, losing his flannel overshirt and his ragged grey shirt. He’s as awkward as ever, balancing on one foot then the other to get his long white socks off, but finally he’s standing in his boxers. He matches Effy in tiny panties. Cook’s full naked, of course, clad in only his terrible tattoos. Similarly fitting to personality, JJ’s still mostly dressed.

There’s a smirk on Effy’s face that makes Freddie want to hyperventilate, just a little bit. He tries to be better than that, tries to channel his roiling lust through a kiss. She doesn’t put up with it long, pulling away to lick a long line from his collarbone to his adam’s apple.

Freddie loves the feel of Effy’s tongue against his skin, but he gets why this can’t be too much about him and Effy. Winning the love factor complicates their role this. He spreads his fingers in the mess of Effy’s three days old braids for just a moment, then backs off. There’s nothing that Cook needs from him, not right now, but JJ can still use a boost. Fisting his hands in his shirt, Freddie steps in close to kiss him yet again. He pushes his hands up JJ’s Jack of Spades t-shirt, only to scrape his fingers along JJ’s abdomen. Judging by JJ’s full body shudder, it’s as good for him as it ever has been when Cook does it to him.

Freddie does it again, and again, until JJ’s covered in long red scratches left by his fingernails. Cook steps in to tug JJ’s hoodie off, then shirt off. With the fabric gone, Freddie’s free to run his tongue along them, soothing JJ’s skin. Lifting his head to look up at him, Freddie smiles at Cook. He’s anxious now, as anxious as if it were his and Cook’s very first time, thirteen years old and just messing around on a rainy day, but it’s anxiety fueled by desire, and he’s been struggling too long with trying to get what he wants to back down now. Cook would approve. Hell, Cook does approve. Kissing JJ over his shoulder with his fingertips in the waistband of JJ’s jeans is proof enough of that. 

The risque touch can’t last forever. The snug press of Cook’s fingers disappears as Freddie’s scratching nails slip down to slide roughly over the zip of JJ’s jeans. JJ’s hard, and Freddie’s no stranger to this. He’s lost count of the times he and Cook have gotten drunk or stoned enough for something to happen. He unzips the jeans, and shoves everything down JJ’s legs until it’s just Freddie vs boner. Freddie knows from the epic retelling of what did happen that Emily didn’t suck JJ’s dick. Freddie is pleased to be JJ’s first. There’s a heady feeling that comes with being someone’s first. He can’t really blame Emily, or Cook for offering Pandora a spin.

It’s a little difficult to concentrate on only the dick sucking. As good as he wants this to be for JJ, Effy and Cook are the kind of personalities that fill whatever room they’re in. Freddie can’t help but steal glances. Effy stands alongside JJ, panties discarded to the top of the blanket. Cook is on his knees same as Freddie, really getting a good look at her red and puffy fanny and how it responds to his fingers. He’s attentive, in a way he usually isn’t. Considerate, even.

Freddie can feel when Effy and JJ start to kiss before he can hear it. Freddy’s been on the other side of some of her magnificent kisses and envies JJ. Effy kisses the way some people burn down buildings; reckless and unable to turn back once it’s begun.

He’s soon back to relishing his own situation though. Cook has separated from Effy’s cunt to crawl up behind Freddie. 

“One thing I know,” he explains in a casual tone, “is Freds here likes to choke on it. I’m no porn star, but you wouldn’t know it, based on how Freddie would throw himself on my cock.” 

Cook puts his hand on the nape of Freddie’s neck and slowly pushes forward until Freddie’s deep throating JJ. Freddie’s eyes water as he gags. It’s so fucking sexy that he can feel his dick straining against his boxers. He loves the feeling of his lips nearly splitting at the corners, loves pubes in his face and a bizarre sensation of cock almost punching through his head, he’s so far in. It’s one of his fucked up, mention to no one wanking daydreams, Cook fucking his mouth so hard he breaks through him. 

The thing is, as much as Freddie’s enjoying the moment, this is only JJ’s second moment. He doesn’t have the stamina built up yet, the kind that comes with experience. Everyone else on this boat has fucked into the triple digits. It just makes sense that JJ comes first. He spills into Freddie’s mouth and Freddie doesn’t back off, doesn’t even try to fight Cook’s hand holding him in place. 

“Fuckin’ gargle with it,” Cook dares him, then laughs his piggish laugh.

God fucking strike him down, Freddie does it. He keeps JJ’s come in his mouth as he pulls off, then uses his tongue to push it forward to his teeth. The jizz coats Freddie’s whole mouth by the time he’s done. It’s been too long since he was friendly enough with Cook to do this. He misses this taste.

JJ, unsurprisingly, doesn’t calm in the wake of an orgasm, like most people. Instead he’s almost manic. Freddie watches him, slumped on his knees. He wants Cook’s hand back on his head. He wants to fucking come, and he wants to be touched by Effy and Cook.

“What happens next?” JJ asks eagerly. “Emily just rolled off and wanked.”

Freddie knows. He knows in detail what Emily did, and can easily picture it, thanks to his brief time with Katie. What he doesn’t know is how to answer JJ’s question. This is more than he ever thought would happen. He can’t imagine asking for more.

Lucky for him, his fuckmates are more self-centred than he is. 

“Touch my boobs while Cook and Freddie fool around,” Effy commands.

“Yes. I mean, uh, okay? Certainly. Because-” JJ continues on in that vein, but he’s not worrisomely locked on, not yet. Freddie doesn’t think he has to intervene.

Cook falls right into line too. He knee walks over to where he can face Freddie. “What do you want to do, then?”

Freddie is terrified to be honest. He’s also scared of not speaking. What will happen to this fragile thing they’re maybe trying to build if he wants different things and can’t say them and explodes over their absence later? Everything’s been ruined so many times already. He doesn’t want to ruin this thing of gossamer and reconciliation and hope. “I want you on my neck and I want you to fuck me.”

“You want to be the girl, huh?”

Freddie crosses his arms defensively. “Maybe I do.”

“Okay then. Calm down. Don’t have an attack.”

It’s the closest Freddie’s going to get to an apology. Their honest conversation an hour ago was a fluke, not the way Cook usually is. If he can’t be okay with a guy who can’t apologise, he should walk away now. 

He stays. He went into this friendship with Cook knowing he was a dickhead. It’d be different if Cook wasn’t willing to fuck. If he was too straight-man to accept Freddie fully. But Cook is compromising himself to give Freddie what he wants, and that has to count for something.

One thing that can be said for lonely repulsive middle aged men is they own luxury lube, aware that there’s no prospects for an actual woman. Freddie might hate Cook’s dad, might threaten to burn not just his face but his whole body if he ever sees him again, but he can appreciate the man knowing he’s a loser. It’s a quick venture into Cook Senior’s filthy bedroom to pick up the bottle Freddie knew would be there before he can be back where the action is.

Positions have been changed in the brief time he’s been away. JJ and Effy are laying down now, bodies like snow and cream on top of the blue blanket. JJ’s sucking one of Effy’s nipples, drawing it up to a daggerpoint. Freddie throws the bottle to Cook in a low underhand toss, and kneels facing the other couple. 

Freddie is so busy concentrating on JJ playing Effy’s tits to avoid thinking about what’s next that it comes as a total surprise when there are suddenly hands on his ass cheeks, spreading them. Freddie doesn’t want to tense up at the first finger, so he looks at Effy and tries to recall what she tastes like. Except Cook doesn’t start as standard as one lubed finger. Cook starts at tucking his chin down so he’s at the right angle to spit on Freddie’s ass a few times. It’s shockingly dirty. Cook jiggles Freddie’s ass so the spit slides down. 

“Never forget who did this to you first,” Cook says possessively.

“Uh huh.” It’s hard to consider future nostalgia when he’s craving something so bad. His ‘not quite’ qualifier to Effy’s ‘bi?’ is dissipating to nothing. He’s fooled around with more than one guy now, and he’s doing the gayest possible sex act he can do. Freddie decides he’s gonna be at peace with being incredibly bisexual, as long as Cook gets a cock in his ass.

Cook fucks him with the same two fingers that he’d fucked Effy with. Freddie bites his lip for the first minute. There’s a burn to it, it’s true. But it’s a burn the way road rash from falling while skateboarding burns. There’s satisfaction to it. Cook’s hand thrusts are vigorous. He’s always claimed to go for the g-spot, claimed to be the king of making girls squirt. Apparently it’s a technique he’s not interested in changing despite the change of gender. Even once the light pain fades, Freddie’s mouth is frozen. This is more intense than he imagined it would be. Cook continuing to occasionally spit on the cleft of his ass doesn’t help.

It gets wilder when Cook slicks up his cock and presses his way inside Freddie. It’s like getting struck by lightning, like getting buried under magma after a volcano erupts. His entire body heats to a thousand degrees, and he hurts in a way only a natural disaster could provide. But he doesn’t tell Cook to stop, to pull out, to leave him alone. How can he when JJ’s watching him like he’s the most awe inspiring thing since a new brand of model glue came out? How can he stop this when Effy’s calm and smiling, his actions a dam in the swirling rapids of her life? Effy’s looking at him like she thinks things are going to be okay, and that’s so rare for her that Freddie feels committed.

The sex isn’t just for them, though. After a minute of time to adjust, Cook starts cycling his hips. Freddie’s fists ball into the blanket underneath him and he rocks his body back to meet Cook’s pelvis. It’s fucking good. At basic definition, beyond gender orientation or relationship complications or effort towards making something work, it’s just _good_. 

Freddie falls forward. He comes to rest with his chest to the blanket, elbows and forearms holding the rest of him up. It loses Freddie the ability to take in Effy and JJ, but he knows they’re there. He hopes they fuck. He wishes it for JJ, to get more experience, and with someone he’s attracted to no less. He wishes it for Effy too. She deserves more people in her life that are gentle and innocent. And as grating as Cook’s ‘like a girl’ comment was, Freddie can’t help but think that this is the sensation Effy gets any time she gets laid. This is what all girls get to have; breached and burning to a cinder and powerful. 

Cook doesn’t let him stay on his elbows for long. From the stories Cook’s told he’s a master of ‘any place, any position’, and Freddie decides to go with it when Cook’s hands curl around his belly and tug upwards. Their legs tangle as Cook rearranges them, and Freddie ends up semi-kneeling, riding Cook’s dick like a bucking bronco. JJ’s bright red. His scratches have mostly faded, but he still appears undeniably debauched. Freddie can be proud of that, if nothing else.

Effy’s the one to break the fourth wall between fuckers and observers. She crawls the short distance of edge to blanket to middle of blanket, then kneels in front of him. “He asked you to touch his neck, Cook.”

Freddie’s about to confirm that yes, he is in the market for a hickey or some licking when Effy does something mental. She reaches out and begins to choke him. Her fingers feel so good on his neck. Every millimeter of Freddie’s throat is screaming and he knows he’s biting his lip again. 

Unlike weed, this only takes seconds to make him start to get light headed. Freddie’s never tried asphyxiation before, beyond choking on dick. He likes it more than he should. Who the fuck knew oxygen deprivation is as good as a drug for altering perception? 

As Freddie’s vision begins to blur, Effy opens her legs in front of him. She adjusts herself and they join. Thank fuck for birth control, because Freddie would hate to not have this for purely practical reasons. Effy’s wet as sin, and at this point Freddie can’t tell who did it to her. Cook’s fingers are talented, but JJ manipulated her tits like he usually does a pack of playing cards, but Freddie pulled her hair. Or maybe it’s the combination of them, of actually feeling safe due to not having to make a choice for the first time in six months. Whatever the reason for Effy’s slickness, Freddy tries his best to fill her like she wants. 

Freddie can’t see by the time he comes. He can feel Effy’s cunt gripping him, and the ratsnest of her uncombed hair on his shoulder. He can smell Cook’s beer breath wafting past his cheek. He can still taste JJ’s spunk. The room is full of different tempos of heavy breathing, overridden by the choking noises he’s involuntarily making. He’s so deprived of air that he can’t see, but he can feel his orgasm well up from his toes and overtake his whole body, and he doesn’t care for sight. He spills into Effy, at least for a second before she rises up and he ends up spraying the rest of his jizz over her shaved mound.

It’s not until he’s done coming that Effy lets go of his throat. Freddie heaves for air like he does during a coughing fit of smoking some particularly old skunk. It feels like all the skin on his body is tingling. It might be fucked that all the best experiences of his life come when he’s high or otherwise in an altered state, but that’s life. Everyone on this boat has a way of life that the average person wouldn’t comprehend.

By the time Freddie’s vision has returned, Effy’s laying on her back, masturbating. Freddie’s watched a lot of porn before, but he’s never seen a girl playing with her cunt while splattered in jizz in real life. It’s searingly hot. But like it’s a competition, at the exact moment that Effy starts sobbing through a rising climax, Cook resumes his rapid thrusts. Freddie can’t get hard again in milliseconds, but Cook’s really doing a number on his ass. He easily would if he physically could.

Cook orgasms nearly in unison with Effy. Her back arches up and leaves the floor completely, two fingers in her cunt and her thumb on her clit, as Cook’s hips snap against Freddie’s ass and he pours into Freddie. Hot come hitting his inner walls feels like nothing else Freddie’s ever faced before. He doesn’t even think about pulling off, just gives himself over to the dirty thrill.

Even once Cook has moved him off, it’s not over. Cook’s got his hand crooked under Freddie, all to finger his sloppy ass. Each globule that Freddy’s body pushes out, Cook tries to massage back in. “I’d keep it in you, if I could. You’d always feel me.”

Freddie groans. That sounds filthy. Filthy, and oh so Cook. Once James Cook leaves a mark on a person it’s indelible. At some point, what’s the difference between a skewed perspective on friendship and literal creampies? 

“Should we nap, or should we try to get home?” Effy asks. It’s a reasonable question, one Freddie might have an answer for if Cook wasn’t relentlessly playing with his asshole.

“Home, surely,” JJ offers. “The only thing this boat has to offer is mild shelter. I doubt there’s even enough food for dinner for all of us. If we want to eat, we need to start sailing again. Not to mention that I’m sure we’re off course now.”

“As long as we can drop anchor when we’re all up for round two,” Cook leers. Or at least Freddie assumes he’s leering. He’s got that tone of voice, even if Freddie’s back is still to him.

“You said you want to keep doing this, for this to be our answer. If it is, we’ll have a hell of a lot more than round two.”

“Yes, Eff, and I greatly look forward to fucking the three of you in your bed while your mom is smoking and cursing the state of manhood downstairs. But I still want to make Freds here cry, and that hasn’t happened yet. I haven’t even sucked a dick yet.”

Great. He’s now in a classic Facebook ‘It’s Complicated’ with not one, but three people who are perky after sex, instead of lethargic. Kind of makes Freddie wish for the days of Katie, who only wanted a cuddle from her man to resume her femininity. Still, there’s nothing saying he has to contribute to the conversation yet. Let JJ worry about steering the boat, let Effy ask Cook if there’s a fucking comb on this shithole, let Cook start throwing articles of clothing around. Freddie’s just going to lay on the fleecey blanket for a few minutes, until he’s ready to participate. After all, won’t that be part of the point of them being together? Different members fulfilling different needs? They can get their animation from each other. Freddie’s going to nap.


End file.
